


limoncello

by Laurencin



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Porn with Feelings, and has only ever loved one man, it's more like vane/sieg but like, siegfried is tired, so i feel like siegvane is a rather taxing emotional experience for him, who's keeping track
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:21:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21576721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laurencin/pseuds/Laurencin
Summary: [in which Vane is a courteous lover, and Siegfried is catastrophically unprepared for such a thing]It was this earnestness that had prevented Siegfried from acquiescing to Vane’s bumbling advances for so long; it seemed perverse that someone so bright, so brimming with energy and joie de vie, should be charmed by such a dreary beast as himself. He was certain that, were he to so much as touch a golden hair on the young man’s head, it would tarnish between his fingers, as all things seemed to.
Relationships: Siegfried/Vane (Granblue Fantasy)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 37





	limoncello

Percival’s nickname for Vane - if it could be called that - was crass, perhaps, but Siegfried couldn’t say it was entirely wrong. Like a mutt awaiting its master’s return by the door, Vane had celebrated Siegfried’s pardon as though those five years of absence had never happened at all. Of course, to Vane, they may as well not have; he had always been too forgiving, too eager. It was nice, of course, but… worrying. Earnestness was such a manipulable trait, and Vane was all too trusting besides; Siegfried considered it a small miracle that Vane had not yet had to pay for this naïveté. One of the few mercies he’d witnessed in his time.

It was primarily this earnestness that had prevented Siegfried from acquiescing to Vane’s bumbling advances for so long; it seemed perverse that someone so bright, so brimming with energy and _joie de vie_ , should be charmed by such a dreary beast as himself. He was certain that, were he to so much as touch a golden hair on the young man’s head, it would tarnish between his fingers, as all things seemed to.

Still, Vane had managed – a few months into Siegfried’s tenure aboard the Grand Cypher – to worm his way into Siegfried’s personal space. It had started very simply, innocently, with a request to spar; or, it had seemed innocent, at the time. Siegfried was no longer entirely sure. It was always difficult to tell, with Vane, the degree to which is simplicity was genuine versus a deliberate desire to make people comfortable. In his youth, it had been easy to write it off as the former, but as he settled into his role as vice-captain, it had begun to look more and more as though Vane realized the effect he had on people; deliberately played into his bumbling reputation to keep people calm. He certainly seemed to have this effect, intentional or not, on Lancelot, to say nothing of the young men under his tutelage.

And then Vane would do something impossibly simple-minded – say, telling Siegfried he was “like a monster or something”, or letting the kids on the airship talk him into baking sweets before dinner – and Siegfried was back to wondering if he was fishing in stagnant waters. Nothing in particular below the surface.

Whatever the case, the fact remained that Vane was not easily dismissed, and their “training sessions” quickly widened in scope. An early morning spar segued into lunch at Lowain’s bar; evening cooldowns, allegedly intended to “help Vane sleep”, seemed more often than not to end at Ladiva’s café, chatting and laughing well into the night. For Siegfried, this was of little consequence, as his body had abandoned its need for sleep long ago; Vane, however, was still only human, and this new routine of theirs took a visible toll. Though Vane would never admit it, Siegfried could see his movements turn sluggish, hear his words blur and slur together as his tongue outpaced his thoughts; it was up to Siegfried, therefore, to feign exhaustion, and give Vane an excuse to go to bed.

It was one of these nights that found the pair seated on the edge of Vane’s bed, talking quietly in the flickering light of Vane’s gas lamp. It wasn’t particularly late, this time, but Vane had morning duties, and Siegfried knew he wouldn’t speak up about it on his own terms. In the hopes of putting Vane to bed before sun-up, Siegfried had led them to the barracks earlier than usual.

And perhaps it was some form of miscommunication, or perhaps Vane was picking up on something in Siegfried’s manner that Siegfried himself had not, but Vane had placed himself ever so barely inside Siegfried’s space, his hand creeping across the bedspread inch by inch, seeking out Siegfried’s fingers.

Dimly, Siegfried considered putting a stop to the gentle advance, reminded of his old fears. He ought to bid Vane good night; pretend he didn’t notice the suddenly-too-warm touch, the dull heat of Vane’s gaze, the simple fact that Vane had closed the door behind them. He should leave, now, and let Vane down tomorrow. Push him towards Lancelot. There was something there, wasn’t there? Something vibrant, something alive, something with a future. Something entirely and necessarily opposed to whatever Siegfried could offer.

Siegfried licked his lips, prepared to speak. Prepared to stand, to pull himself away, to return to his room alone.

But Vane was terribly handsome, and his charm infectious, and so when his voice dropped to a murmur, and he leaned into Siegfried’s space, Siegfried couldn’t help but close the distance. Vane had sighed into his mouth, then, releasing whatever tension this decision had created. His arms wound around Siegfried’s waist, pulling the pair together.

Vane’s body was as comfortable as his personality; for all his densely packed muscle, he was still a country boy, and his body clung desperately to what little fat remained. For this, his mass was soft; his arms were soft around Siegfried’s waist, his thighs were soft beneath Siegfried’s fingers, his chest was soft between them, its rise and fall growing faster.

“Siegfried,” Vane sighed, barely pulling his head away, “is this…” He massaged Siegfried’s neck while he searched for words, uneven breaths hot against Siegfried’s lips.

“It’s alright,” Siegfried said, surprising himself with his own impatience. Perhaps, he mused, he had never been as immune to Vane’s charm as he’d imagined.

Vane only managed a nod before pulling Siegfried down onto him, lips connecting gently, experimentally. This was another of Vane’s curiosities; though he lived in (vocal, exuberant) awe of Siegfried’s strength, with the training grounds behind them, he treated Siegfried with the care of a porcelain doll. With each piece of clothing he removed, Vane smoothed his hands over the exposed skin, inspecting him for new marks, trailing kisses along old ones. His touches were feather-light, as though he feared the wrong move would rip one of them open. As though Siegfried would even notice if they did. Still, he had – whether he had recognized it or not – missed this kind of touch. This genuine affection. He could feel goosebumps rise across his skin in the wake of Vane’s trailing fingers, as though his very flesh mourned the absence of contact, reached out to chase it. His body shuddered a protest against his own restraint, imploring him to voice his approval, to push into Vane’s touch, to do something, anything – but he was being selfish enough already, allowing Vane to do this. He would take no more.

Vane was big. Siegfried had suspected as much, but the reality of it was something else entirely. He imagined this was why Vane had him straddle his waist; easier to control. Less likely to do real injury. That on its own was almost enough to make Siegfried laugh - as if, with his reputation, anyone would ever worry about such a thing. But to Vane, this was immaterial; to Vane, he was not _Siegfried the Dragonslayer_ , nor was he even _Commander Siegfried_. He was simply Siegfried, a friend who had trusted him with his body, and Vane would not - could not - violate that trust. So Vane had perched Siegfried on top of him, slid his fingers inside, free hand stroking Siegfried’s thigh, tracing thick, winding scars.

“Is this alright,” Vane asked, and his voice barely cut the air. Preserving the quiet, Siegfried elected not to speak, and instead rolled his hips against Vane’s fingers - those thick, long fingers, calloused by a farm boy’s life. With an understanding little laugh, Vane curled his fingers inside, attempted to meet Siegfried’s hips with gentle thrusts of his hand. “Okay,” he whispered, withdrawing his fingers. “Take it when you’re ready.”

When he was ready. That was also kind of funny. As if he had ever been ready for anything. No, if Siegfried had learned anything at all in his life, it was that the best response was usually to simply _do_. This in mind, he took a deep breath - and one of Vane’s hands in his - and lowered himself onto Vane’s blushing cock.

Yes, it hurt. Yes, he whined a bit, and yes, his thighs were shaking when they finally came to rest on Vane’s waist. But that was the difficult part out of the way. Brow furrowed in concern, Vane stared up at him, giving his hand a squeeze. “Are you alright?”

Siegfried simply laughed, rolling his hips around the mass inside. “Mm. I’ll get used to it.”

“You don’t have to rush.”

“You’re scolding me, now?” He couldn’t help a laugh, a little one, breathless. “Have I fallen so far?”

“No, never,” Vane said, so quickly Siegfried’s chest tightened. “I just don’t want you to feel like you have to prove anything.” The “anything” alarmed him; any number of things could fill that space, and they weren’t all entirely wrong. Doesn’t have to prove that he’s the strongest; that he can do anything; that he never needs rest; that he ever existed off the battlefield and knows how to continue to exist; that none of these things occur to him. But that was always the trick with Vane; the space between his words was never an omission of truth. Rather, it was an admission that what was meant to occupy that space was unknown to him; that he knew something ought to be there, he knew something pushed Siegfried to live so thoroughly beyond his limits that they may as well no longer exist, but he could not understand it. He couldn’t even begin to fathom what imagined flaws underpinned Siegfried’s actions.

Siegfried leaned forward, hands braced on the headboard, and pressed a kiss to Vane’s lips. “I’m alright,” he said, quiet, careful. “Thank you.”

Vane nodded, swallowing thickly as Siegfried rolled against him again. “No worries.” Vane moved to brush Siegfried’s hair from his brow, following the motion through to cradle the back of his head, rub his thumb in slow circles against Siegfried’s scalp. “Just wanna make sure before I start moving.” The hand on Siegfried’s thigh squeezed lightly, a silent reassurance.

It was a lovely thought, yes, but there was really no preparing for Vane. His first thrust was shallow, slow, and still Siegfried gasped as he received it; still, he coaxed Vane on, murmured encouragement into his ear.

Emboldened by Siegfried’s praise, Vane began to move in earnest, hips bucking up to meet Siegfried’s, bouncing his captain on his cock. Siegfried was positive he would split himself in half at any moment, but it would be worth it - worth it for every inch of Vane inside him, worth it for the clumsy hand tugging hungrily at his erection, worth it for the heady, desperate chanting of his name, _Siegfried, oh, Siegfried…_ Yes, just Siegfried. No qualifiers. No extraneous nouns. Just Siegfried, Siegfried, _Siegfried_.

“That’s it, Vane,” Siegfried sighed, voice breaking as his body strained to keep up his pace. “That’s it.” Every thrust brushed against that spot inside him, the one that made his whole body tingle, the one that filled his vision with stars - of course it did; every thrust touched every part of him. And it was getting to be too much.

“Siegfried,” Vane said, probably louder than he intended. “I’m sorry if this is weird to say, but I…” he cursed under his breath, pace faltering. “You look so beautiful like this.”

He’d heard this before; it was a favourite of King Josef’s. He had always taken pride in Siegfried - all of him, from his blade to his body, and he had made that known, emphatically, privately. Some part of this memory must have ghosted across Siegfried’s face, because Vane’s brow creased dramatically.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped, taking Siegfried’s face in his hands. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have–”

“No,” Siegfried said, nuzzling into Vane’s hands. “It’s alright.” He leaned in for a kiss, clumsy and rough. “It’s all alright.”

Not knowing what to say - or perhaps simply not wanting to put his foot in his mouth again - Vane brought their lips together again, curled his fingers around Siegfried’s hips. Holding Siegfried in place, Vane bucked up into him, clapping their hips together with each thrust.

Siegfried couldn’t help the sounds that tumbled from his lips – or, would have, if Vane didn’t devour them so readily. His fingers curled into the headboard, wood creaking in his grip as Vane’s rhythm faltered, hips stuttered, breaths came faster.

“Sieg- Siegfried,” Vane panted, tilting his head back to look Siegfried in the eyes. “I’m so close. I’m so close.”

He didn’t need to say it, really; it was plain in his movements, in the sweat on his brow, in the hazy look in his eyes. In fact, the warning barely came soon enough; with one last shaky, half-shouted _Siegfried,_ Vane came inside, hips jerking violently, filling Siegfried so completely, so perfectly, so—

“Yes,” Siegfried hissed, back arching as he finished between them, streaking up Vane’s heaving chest.

Slowly, his grip on the headboard relaxed; he let himself slip forward, cheek coming to rest atop Vane’s head. He could feel Vane’s breath, hot and gasping, against his throat, nose brushing at his Adam’s apple.

Somewhat more distantly, he was aware of Vane’s hands moving to cup his rear, slide himself out. Something – come, sweat, the absolute deluge of oils Vane had insisted upon, he wasn’t certain – trailed down his thighs, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to care. Not yet, not yet, not yet.

“Hey,” Vane whispered, and Siegfried bit back a groan. “Let’s get you cleaned up, huh?”

“Mmh,” was the only reply Siegfried could be bothered with. He rubbed his face deeper into Vane’s hair, let the fluffy tresses tickle at his cheek, his nose, his lips. Beneath him, Vane let out a breathless little laugh, traced circles on his back.

He let his eyes slide open, remembering his place.

“I’ll take care of it.” He pushed himself off the bed, careful not to look back. “You need to get to sleep.”

“Oh… Right. Thanks.” Siegfried didn’t need to turn around to see the crease in Vane’s brow. It occurred to him that, even if Vane were the sort to lie, he wouldn’t be very good at it; those big, bright eyes of his couldn’t hide a thing.

Trying not to think about the look burning into his back, he tugged his pants back on. These would have to come in the wash with him.

“Goodnight,” Vane called, as Siegfried turned the doorknob. His tone lilted between the words, hopeful, questioning.

“Sleep well, Vane.” He passed through the door, pressed it closed as gently as he could manage. Leaned his forehead against the door, just for a moment.

It would take him the rest of the night to decide whether his mistake was in leaving, or in staying in the first place.

**Author's Note:**

> no this is not leading up to a gangbang with siegfried and all the knights but maybe it should be
> 
> follow @tyrfingering for more spicy siegfrieds


End file.
